


Now we Match

by RarePairFairy



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale is also Soft, Pets, based on someone else's fic, crowley is soft, dumb reasons to adopt an animal, when you sass your friend and immediately regret it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-27 13:03:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19791448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RarePairFairy/pseuds/RarePairFairy
Summary: Thank you megzseattle for giving me permission to eat your delicious fic and regurgitate it as this godforsaken feelsy mess.On that note, read The Serpent and the Seagull pt.1 (https://archiveofourown.org/works/19338406) before this or else you'll be missing crucial context.





	Now we Match

**Author's Note:**

  * For [megzseattle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/megzseattle/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Because I missed you (and I like it when you bite)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19338406) by [megzseattle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/megzseattle/pseuds/megzseattle). 



‘So where’s Freddie?’ Crowley asked, grinning in a way that suggested he knew exactly what he was doing and planned to keep doing it.

Aziraphale scowled. ‘ _Frederick_ is in his little window nest.’

Frederick’s little window nest was full of blankets and a teacup half full of water in case he got thirsty. He was currently sunning himself and fashionably ignoring all the intrigued and disturbed customers that glanced into the out-of-place cardboard box in the windowsill. Every now and then someone would walk past the window, see him through the glass, and pause to stare or take a photo. Aziraphale would have moved him to the other window facing into the alley between his shop and the next one over to give him some privacy, if that window got any sun at all.

‘What’s the problem? Freddie is a better name anyway.’

‘But I named him Frederick,’ Aziraphale insisted. ‘I spent half an hour going through names to get to that one and I’m not letting you shorten it just to poke fun.’

Crowley’s eyebrows raised until they hovered almost two inches above his glasses.

‘What were the bad names then?’ he asked.

Aziraphale straightened his waistcoat and lifted his chin. ‘They weren’t bad names. They just weren’t _his_ name.’

‘Alright then, what names were too stuffy to be _his_ name then?’ Crowley asked, eyebrows returned to their normal position. Aziraphale sniffed and checked on Frederick, who was hissing menacingly at a camera phone through the window.

‘If you’re genuinely curious. I bypassed Oswald, Rodney, Norton, Vivian, Terence, Horace, Erwin, Sebastian, Mortimer, Henry, Alcott, Amos, Albert, Theodore, Milton, Wesley, Maurice, Cornelius, and Timothy.’

He turned to look at Crowley, who had sat up from where he was lounging on the couch to lean forward with his elbows on his knees as if watching a riveting game of badminton.

‘That’s … quite a catalogue,’ he said, barely holding back a cackle. Aziraphale scowled until the corners of Crowley’s lips stopped threatening to rise.

‘That was after I narrowed it down to twenty. Twenty-one, including the name I eventually picked.’

A nod, still sarcastic, but indicating a lessening interest in the topic at hand. They moved on to the subject of dinner and Aziraphale, perhaps a little optimistically, assumed the trivial matter had been dropped.

Until the following weekend when Crowley entered the bookshop with an alarming smell about his person.

…

Aziraphale had pegged Crowley as very much an Inanimate Pets person, if plants could be called pets. But, Aziraphale supposed, if an angel could choose to personally care for an animal, why would a demon not also get curious?

But, Crowley had his plants. So why, if not for the highly questionable purpose of irritating an angel, would he be carrying a small animal in his pocket?

‘You inspired me,’ Crowley said with an unconvincing swagger.

‘Really, ridiculing me is a terrible reason to adopt an animal,’ Aziraphale said firmly and not without disapproval and disappointment. The thought of Crowley bringing an animal into his home, nay, lugging one around in his jacket like a wallet or a pair of keys just to make fun of Aziraphale, seemed uncharacteristically heartless. Aziraphale liked Frederick very much. Why couldn’t his demon just let it alone?

Crowley, for his part, looked genuinely offended. ‘I’m not,’ he said smartly. There was a flash of hurt in his eyes, but it was smothered by a dramatic arm-swivel, like a distracting parody of actual hurt. ‘What makes you think I’m ridiculing you? I got that out of my system already. Take a compliment, angel.’

A high-pitched _wheee_ sound distracted Aziraphale from his snappish response and he peered at the lump in Crowley’s pocket.

‘Now look, you’ve upset her,’ Crowley said with a lilt. He slid his fingers into his pocket to calm whatever it was he held in there. Aziraphale crossed his arms, and got a hiss for his trouble as Frederick poked his head out of Aziraphale’s inner pocket.

‘I just don’t see how you’ve gone six thousand years showing no interest in domesticated animals, just to adopt one as soon as I do,’ Aziraphale muttered. He slowly and gently pulled Frederick out of his coat, smiling slightly to himself as he remembered first learning the handkerchief trick, and crossed the floor to his tank. He slyly glanced over to Crowley on the off chance he might catch a glimpse of whatever it was squeaking in his pocket, and was surprised to see Crowley had narrowed his eyes.

‘No interest in domesticated animals,’ Crowley repeated. ‘Just because you never saw me with a pet doesn’t mean I’ve never had pets, angel. Or that I don’t know how to bloody look after one.’

‘Oh,’ Aziraphale said, momentarily thrown for a loop. ‘But … well, I just thought, considering your reaction to Frederick …’

‘Which was petty, and largely about you replacing me with a snake, yes, I know. But I’m not talking about that, or about farm animals or service animals, and it’s not like I keep them on the regular. But I’ve had … you know. Dogs and things.’

Halfway through the sentence Crowley turned on his heel to pace through the stacks at a leisurely pace, face conveniently hidden, hand in his pocket holding whatever was definitely not a dog.

‘You’ve had dogs?’

‘And things. In the past. When it was convenient for me. Or inconvenient for someone else. You know. The contents of a whippet breeder’s property, one time. You would’ve liked that. The guy lost about eighty thousand in value overnight, not that he was spending the money on properly looking after his _product_ ,’ Crowley cut himself off and flipped open a book a little aggressively, prompting Aziraphale to hover over his shoulder nervously. ‘I couldn’t keep them all. Obviously. Sent them all to homes with kids, like good little agents of evil. Boom, overnight, ten families suddenly dealing with the kind of chaos that only comes from the team-up of the wrong dog with the wrong child.’ He snapped the book shut and grinned ferally at Aziraphale. ‘You know the type.’

‘But you kept one, I take it?’ Aziraphale cut in with interest. Crowley shrugged and mumbled, confidence momentarily derailed. ‘Well, yes. I did. Bum leg. She wasn’t really destructive enough to give to a kid. Too lazy. Graceful as spaghetti. Head like a wonky triangle.’

Aziraphale couldn’t help smiling, caught off-guard and utterly charmed by the hints of love Crowley couldn’t quite hold back, even as he listed all the supposed defects of his old dog that Aziraphale suddenly greatly regretted never meeting.

‘She sounds lovely,’ Aziraphale said.

‘She was,’ Crowley said quietly, then promptly shut his mouth.

There was a moment of awkward silence. Crowley twitched his arm and took a step toward the door. His pocket protested.

‘Oh,’ Aziraphale said, fussing and feeling regretful, though he couldn’t identify quite why. Doubting Crowley, maybe. Not that he didn’t have good reason, but. Still. ‘At least introduce me.’

Crowley turned, looking hesitant. His hand rested on his pocket and Aziraphale wondered if he might leave anyway, stubborn dear nervous thing.

‘No harm I guess,’ Crowley blurted out. He placed his hand under his pocket lump to support it as he eased the small creature into his hand.

The small creature in question splayed out its legs and _meep_ ed, affronted at the untimely removal from her comfortable cave.

Aziraphale gasped, surprise and joy competing on his face for major expression.

‘ _Don’t_ , she already thinks she’s the best thing since sliced bread and she doesn’t even know what sliced bread is,’ Crowley said, cupping the kitten in both hands as she amiably clawed at his thumbs. ‘Saw her in a box. Couldn’t believe idiots were still leaving kittens out in boxes. And I just thought of you and Freddie – Frederick – whatever, and I thought, I dunno. Maybe they can be friends. _After she’s gotten bigger_ ,’ he added loudly, scowling at a suddenly very interested-looking Frederick in his tank.

‘What did you name her?’ Aziraphale asked, trying not to loom over her too much. She looked so soft. A little white and cream cloud.

‘Couldn’t think of a name. I’ve just been calling her Betty,’ Crowley said, still sounding slightly strangled. ‘You know. After Golden Girls.’

Aziraphale nodded his head very slightly and bit his tongue so hard he almost had to miracle himself a new one. _Thou shalt not judge thy friend’s pet’s name. He probably thought very long and hard about it. Who knows if he might be going by Anthony rather than Crowley if I hadn’t reacted like I did when he changed it in the forties? Maybe he prefers Anthony. I really should ask him if he wants me to call him Anthony_.

‘It’s a lovely name,’ he said, and lifted his hand. ‘May I …?’

‘She loves a belly rub,’ Crowley said, removing his right thumb from her tiny jaws. She grabbed his left thumb and bit it. ‘She’ll sink her needles into your fingers, but she’ll still love it.’

Aziraphale gently stroked her belly, and couldn’t help a soppy smile when she did in fact sink her needles into his fingers. She was such a harmless looking creature for having such an outrageous mean streak. But then, she was also sweet. She even licked his hand.

He decided immediately to keep a supply of kitten food in the bookshop.

**Author's Note:**

> In the book, Crowley is a Golden Girls fan.


End file.
